


Chase

by Surly_Sour



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Call it a What If Until The Show Comes Out, Fix it of sorts, Gen, Its sad its very sad at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surly_Sour/pseuds/Surly_Sour
Summary: What if, character growth, aftermath of Endgame, call it what you will.Following Wanda Maximoff as the world rebuilds.





	1. Circle The Chairs

“I came back and…” The small woman in a far too large sweater pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words.  

“I came back and suddenly my apartment isn’t my apartment anymore - and my wife is dead.  Aashi has… had… had cancer… and I was trying to convince her to order out for dinner when I vanished - just to make her feel a little bit like her old self and suddenly I’m gone..”  There was a quiet murmur of response as she forged ahead, the others listening.  “I was there with her when they gave her the prognosis - diagnosis?  I always got those two words mixed up.”  She smiled faintly at that, “And… it was good, they caught it early.  It was good.  I joked I was more than happy to be an old crazy cat lady with her, ovaries or not, hair or not - I loved her.  She was still gorgeous and so strong, and we were going to keep fighting this together… until.”

Inevitably they always came to the Until.  

_Until The Snap.  Until I disappeared.  Until the world itself fell apart._

She shook her head, trying not to look at the others seated around her, her voice unsteady.  Knowing she had to get it out.  “I don’t know what happened, I’m still trying to figure that out.  But I think she tried to go on and just… I don’t know when.  Her parents still won’t talk to me.  But, between the cancer center losing its specialists, she lost her job and her health insurance when businesses started scaling back before the economy crashed… I wasn’t there to keep her going and she gave up.  I wasn’t there.”

Her voice goes soft as she finally loses grip on her composure, “I said I would be.  I promised.  And I wasn’t.”

“…I wasn’t.”

Wanda sat at the back of the room for the survivors group, her hat pulled low and hands wrapped around a cup of cooling coffee.  

They wouldn’t take notice of one more person hanging back outside of the circle of chairs, there was always someone new coming to group, reluctant to join.  Sooner or later they do sit in one of those chairs, replacing the ones that don’t come back.  She isn’t ready to do that, she isn’t ready to disturb the wound that has settled to a dull ache.  

But she still keeps coming back to this place with its empty walls and folding chairs and gritty coffee, week after week.  She sits and listens to the mourning, the guilty, the angry, those left behind and the lost souls returned to an unfamiliar world.  

She listens as the woman named Kathy, that loved dogs but would have settled for a houseful of cats if it made her wife a little more happier, who years ago would have been the life of the party with a smile that could light up a room, break down with a soft sound as she sank back into her seat.  Arms wrapped tight around herself as the therapist passed her the box of tissues they kept readily on hand.  

_It was brave of you to share that.  It was alright.  It was all part of the process of letting it go…_

Disastrous things occurred when people had vanished, not just when the pilots or surgeons disappeared.  A snap and it had rippled out like a stone disturbing the surface of a lake.  Half the world population and a little bit more.  One important person missing and how quickly another person’s life fell apart.  Five years gone, it took less than that for the infrastructure of civilization to collapse upon itself, it quickly proved impossible to keep a city up and running on minimal support.  

And to come back after those ripples had passed…

Things weren’t fixed when they returned, no more than those left behind were made whole again.  This was beyond that, nothing that Stark Industries or S.H.I.E.L.D or any team of heroes swooping in to save the day could fix.  

Because a lot happens in five years.  

And there was a lot of fixing to do before things would be put as right as they could be to allow others to heal from it…

What feels like decades ago a small and scared woman named Wanda Maximoff stood in the middle of a quiet street in Sokovia.  Unsure of what the day would bring once the fighting started, using her powers to evacuate civilians, not knowing the cost to make things right that waited for her in Novi Grad.  

_Take your things, do not linger.  Go.  Leave._   It was part of her potential, that ability to hear and influence a listening mind, in her past to exploit and break it with their worst fears.  

Two of her fingers twitched and circled upon the waxed cup, pulling that energy slowly into form, cautious in threading it slowly through those within the room.  No one notices, they’re listening to the grief counselor leading the group in a breathing exercise.  There would be no need for evacuations, no fear, no harm - that was not a part of her anymore.  

The battle was over, the threat gone.  A sense of peacefulness radiates among the occupants of the room, so slight a thing that one would think it to just be another part of the process, a little relief from sharing their stories with others.  Nothing permanent, she can’t coerce a mind to heal, but she can give it a soft push.  To try to start and nothing more, she couldn’t fix that pain no more than she could force her own mind to forget.  

Only a few seconds and it is gone.

She knows it will be a long time before she could find her own peace, but in this moment she knows them and their pain and shoulders their burdens for the briefest respite.  

There would still be pain, just as there would be new people in the chairs the next week, their loss was as much their own as shared by her, but for now - they had time and their memories.  


	2. Samarra

Wanda winced at the bright light and sudden heat that struck her face.  

The sounds of confusion coming from all around her - calling out, whooping.  She pulled herself up carefully to sit, taking a deep breath that made her ribs ache.

 _Where was she?_  Her head felt like it had been split wide open.   _What had happened?_  She must have blacked out after… after?  She gingerly touched a spot above her eyebrow, wincing at the sharp pain.  Pain that was replaced with a cold wash of familiar panic as she realized where she was.  This was Wakanda. This was where they had made one final stand in -

_No.  No.  No._

This wasn't right and with it came a rush of recollection.  The Mind Stone had shattered. Thanos had failed. But he had simply slid his hand across the top of her head, as though he was a parent gently chiding a child foolishly crying over a broken toy.  Telling her, _Now was not the time to mourn_.  

Vision had begged her to do this and after all their running - _she had killed him_ \- and he had simply turned back time and taken it anyway.

She had tried to rise to stop it and the nightmare they had been running away from for so long had simply batted her aside without a second glance. 

That soft but awful sound.

The silence that came with it. 

The others had swept in, engaging in a desperate last attempt and Wanda had dragged herself to Vision.  The battle forgotten, only the sounds of her ragged breathing, her pulse fighting against the ringing in her ears.  _She could run._ Running away was old instinct.   _She still had to try, she wouldn't leave him behind._ But the hollow winds had begun to blow, carrying oblivion with them and she had welcomed that nothingness as it claimed her.  Leaning into it gratefully, it would be better to become nothing at all.  Everything she loved was taken until she had nothing left, let it take her too.

Yet something changed, she was back.  

How?  Had the others done something?  She could hear the yelling getting closer to where she crouched in the underbrush, still trying to calm the vice that had settled itself tightly across her chest in her overwhelming blur of thoughts.  If she had returned, where was Vision?

She barely had time to react to a hissing flash of gold that flared to life just before her.  It looked like the small fireworks that spun wildly when lit, spitting sparks of magic as it stretched and opened, with it a small man with a shorn head that immediately stepped through.  A look of urgency crossing his face as he spotted her amidst the overgrowth and covered the space between them, his robes a flurry of motion.

“-Witch?  Scarlet Witch?  Are you Wanda?”

“I…”  She struggled to find her voice but he simply shook his head with a soft expression of sympathy, somehow he understood what she was experiencing.

“There’s no time, and I am sorry for that.  He told us to gather the others as quickly as possible.  They brought us back, gave us a chance to fix it.” He held out his hand for her to take.  As their hands clasped a sense of calmness settled over her, reassuring warmth chasing away the panic clamoring in her head, no doubt his doing.  Pulling her up to stand as the other hand already was rapidly circling in the air once more, with it bringing more golden sparks as the air split open to reveal another portal, beyond it darkness.

“If you want to see this through to the end - we need to be there.” 

 

The monk had made a gross understatement of their ‘gathering others’ Wanda had quickly realized upon leaving the portal, they were amassing an army.  There were so many coming from other portals, other places, the number of those ready to fight staggering.  A poor time to be comforted by the familiar faces of others, but welcomed for whatever short time they might have left.

There was a small calm voice that sounded above in the chaos of Wanda’s mind as she took to the air with a surge of energy, entering the fray, nerves singing a high song of adrenaline.   _Find him, be thankful for those that survive this afterwards._ It was Wakanda all over again as the forces loyal to Thanos surged across the rubble of what she quickly realized had been the Avenger’s compound.  Another place she had cautiously considered home for what felt too short a time. _  
_

Another home lost.

She scanned the chaos below her, eyes bright, searching for only one person amidst hundreds.  Those that made the mistake to engage her torn apart from the inside out with the barest of interest.  Pawns on the board, another obstacle to toss aside with only enough mind to aim for their fellow warriors with lethal accuracy.  There was only one who was worth her full attention on this battlefield of nightmares and she would pursue him as ruthlessly as he had chased them.

Nothing mattered but one thing, the same thing that now rang in her head again and again and again.   _Find him.  Find him.  Find him._ It was sickening to consider, but Thanos had been right about one thing.   _Now wasn’t the time to mourn._

Bedecked in armor, sword raised in mid-charge, she felt her power flare dangerously as her feet struck the ground before Thanos and with it something else within her.  Gone was the small and scared Wanda, the one that only wanted to be accepted, the one that above anything wanted to make things right.  In her place awoke something else, something that had slumbered deep since her brother - her light - was taken from her and Novi Grad had fallen crumbling in the air. 

Something quiet and cold and terrifying. 

 

Something that wanted the fear of the one that dared to steal so much from her, and would stand defiant before his prize once more to get it. 

 

No, this Wanda would not mourn.

 

Not when there was so much she had to take from him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly plunking away, seeing where this takes me.  
> Thank you for taking a moment to read and for the kudos and comment, they are greatly appreciated.


	3. Appointments Kept

It only took the expression on his face for her to realize as she landed before him, that something was wrong.  Different.

_He’s not the same one._ There was a faint pull of hesitation just below the surface of her anger. _He doesn’t know what he’s done.  To them.  To her._

_That doesn’t matter.  He is not innocent nor deserving of mercy.  He will only seek to repeat what has already been done._

_..._

Everything was too bright.  Too noisy.  It made her head pound and stomach lurch.  

“Alright Ms. Maximoff, head up please, I'm going to shine this light into your eyes.  Your record shows that you've been assessed for a concussion before, correct?” The penlight flicked, moved, flicked back.  They had set up a make-shift medical center, enough to get assessments and stabilize the wounded before getting them to their people. 

Her record?  What record?  Her head swam as she struggled to understand what the medic had meant - the information taken during her time with the Avengers - or did they mean the intake process before they had put her into a shock collar, straitjacket and locked her away?  

She would have nodded but the gloved hand touching under her chin prevented it, “Ye-yes?”

She waited for the medic to turn, to scream to the others in the medical bay for someone to call security - _This is the one!_ But they simply continue to flick the penlight over her other eye, their brow furrowing as they looked at the gash over her eyebrow and beginnings of the bruising creeping across her forehead and temple.  “Comes with the saving the world territory, huh? Alright, good pupil response.” They turned back to the tablet next to them, considering the numbers on the readout. “Your heart rate is still a little high but imagine that's all the leftover adrenaline.” 

Fingers flexed, lightly touching at the back of her head, carefully probing down her neck before receding.  “Any pain?”

Wanda glanced down at her dirt streaked hands, no doubt she looked like she had just crawled out from under the rubble.  She technically had.  But pain?  What hurt?  Everything was a blur.  Everything hurt now that the battle was over. Inside and out.

She just wanted her clearance completed so she could find a quiet place to lay down and forget, maybe just close her eyes and sleep until next week.  “...everywhere?”

The medic chuckled briefly at her response, “Sense of humor is present, that’s a good sign.”

…

Wanda landed between Thanos and the gauntlet, bristling with fury. 

“You took everything from me.”  She had stood before him once hesitant and frightened, divided and had lost so much.

He briefly drew back, his confusion confirming what she had first suspected.  “I don’t even know who you are.” He wouldn’t know what he had done to her. She was simply another foolish challenger on the battlefield, another obstacle to destroy.  One more that would hardly be worth the effort. He would cut her down and leave her forgotten in the dust, just as he had once before.

Perhaps if he had been the same he would have exercised far more caution as he approached with his sword raised.  _It would be so easy to let go, there’s nothing left for you to worry about_.   _No one left for you to be scared of hurting._ _He took that all away from you._ It was tempting, what that voice offered, to forget her humanity for just a moment and show him just how far the depths of her rage truly went. 

_He doesn’t understand.  He will die here not knowing what he did to you._ “...you will.”  She would help him understand his grievous error and lifted herself into the air, behind her stone and rebar shuddering ominously as it too was shrouded in scarlet, scooped up.  She would give him back everything he had given her and bury him with it in a tomb built from the ruins of her life.

It would not bring Vision back, no more than tearing the central processing unit out of Ultron’s chest had brought back Pietro, no more than pushing Tony Stark’s mind into mania had brought back her parents.  But Wanda would gladly tear him apart if it promised to bring back any measure of solace, to stem that gaping wound that threatened to overflow. She threw it at him, the red mists of chaos returning to her hands as quickly as she could throw it, following the arsenal of large projectiles, fuel that was clawed and torn from within her, honed into something far more potent. 

His mistake was letting her getting close.  His sword swept down suddenly tangled in red, held in place by the force of her will.  Thanos bared his teeth as he towered over her, pushing down with all of his strength upon his weapon, seeking to cut this annoyance down once and for all. 

Wanda simply bared her teeth in response, a warning for an untrained hand about to be bitten. 

Energy concentrated in her hands, a subtle twisting of the blade in his, waiting for his opening to press the advantage.  _Focus on me._ Raising herself up in turn, recalling the tricks she had learned in sparring - one last surge and she strikes.

The blades of his sword whirled through the air, broken and torn from his grasp, clattering harmlessly behind him upon stone.  His face a mixture of confusion and fury as she struck again, knocking him back before immediately pulling him up into the air.  _Find the weakness.  Pull it apart._ Her hold tightened, hanging him suspended in the air.  Her hand curling into a claw tangled in threads and yanked backwards, scarlet energy ripping and pulling at his armor violently in response.  

She felt herself slipping away in that haze, hoping to see what would give first, the armor or the limbs it was strapped to as he struggled to break loose of her hold.

He was yelling something.  For help?  For mercy?  Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Until the skies above exploded in light.

…

“It does look like a concussion, Ms. Maximoff, I'm going to give the go ahead on getting you moved.”  They pause for a moment, as though catching themselves before they said something foolish - like, _You’re lucky._ They were no doubt still searching the battlefield for other survivors, bringing them in.  It was how they had found her after the hollow winds had brought Thanos and his forces to oblivion, sitting amidst the destruction with her head bowed.  Sated.  Exhausted.  There were enough that weren’t going to see tomorrow.

“We’re going to get things cleaned up first and then you’ll be on your way.  Until you're told otherwise, you’re going to need to take it easy for the first few days, you might experience some fogginess, short term memory loss, possibly severe headaches.  Just take it day by day - rest.” They gently patted her shoulder, two taps of their hand before moving aside to allow the other medical technician to begin their work, no doubt continuing on to another assessment.  

 

_Rest._ Wanda closed her eyes again, taking a deep breath.  

 

She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry.  


	4. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it is better to sleep, to dream.

She couldn't sleep again.

She kept seeing his face.

So Wanda left her bed, curled up in the corner of the couch and turned on the television for a distraction.  

Which brought immediate regret.

The event may have passed but the effects were still rippling outwards, you couldn't turn on the news without hearing of some new fallout of the return within the first five minutes.  

Sometimes less than that.

It was celebrations and happiness, at a cost, bittersweet when reality sets in.  Now the panic was beginning. Economies that had finally settled would be knocked askew with the sudden increase, suppliers and services that had been scaled back were in a panic with the influx of demand.  Lawmakers were scrambling, trying to accommodate the needs of the public or too busy being consumed by outrage over policies that had been enacted by their governments in their absence.

Chaos.  Certainly a familiar friend, but this wasn't a reassuring distraction as she had hoped.

The television screen went dark and the remote was tossed far beyond immediate reach.  Enough of something that wasn’t going to help, even if her alternatives were limited, no going out as she pleased - too early and besides that, she still suspected they were being kept in one place to pacify Thaddeus Ross. 

She combed a hand through her hair, sighing softly, things still needed to settle before she would feel steady, safe.  There would be a new round of growing pains while order was restored, but at least some of these came with a promise of change.  Another summit - reconsideration of the Accords.  Because the Earth wasn’t alone now, nor that it would be soon forgotten by those who came to defend it.  

What change that would bring…

Wanda sat cross legged upon the loveseat, waiting for the dawn that was still hours away.  Trying to ignore the headache that was threatening to brew as she considered the mountain of bureaucracy piled upon the end table.  They had each been given a manila folder with a thickness that rivaled a novel.  Financial claim forms, affidavits, synopsis of liability agreements, visa renewal forms, grouped without much rhyme or reason.  Things that had generally been handled by others, or a few clicks in a database, now dropped into her lap with the claim of being there to help keep her busy, review them until the legal department was back on its feet.  Keep them in one place, for now.  Under that, traces of Steve, debriefings, status reports -

They hadn't released a date for the memorials yet.

_No time to mourn.  
_

Another deep slow breath.  In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

She suspected the others weren’t taking to the downtime very well either - no one needed to do anything drastic.  Though she appreciated Sam trying to help her spirits up, dragging her out into sunlight to wear down some of that energy.  Just for the sake of doing _something._ She knew he wanted her to talk.  About what had happened to her, what had happened to all of them, but she wasn’t ready.  At least he didn't press the issue, instead he was happy to have someone along who wouldn't outrun him.

_More than tempting to put the whole thing into a bin and set it alight._

The tension was there without her having to reach out to the minds of the others, those watching them with orders not to engage unless necessary.  She supposed it was better to be tense and safely buried with her troubles under a redwood tree worth of paperwork than locked back up with a shock collar.  Especially after so many had seen what she could really do when motivated.

 _Waiting wasn’t always the worst part_.  

She shivered, pulling up her knees and wrapped her arms around herself, staring across the room but not really seeing, drifting away into herself.   _It was being alone.  
_

Early on she had told Vision about how her brother had helped in keeping her grounded, of their connection as twins, though he rushed about Pietro had always kept her nearby.  Protected her. She had kept his impulsiveness in check (Unless a pretty face caught his eye, she felt more like a long suffering mother cursed with a willful and love-sick teenager during those days) but he had kept her from getting stuck in her own head. 

Perhaps the only reason they had survived the tests out of all of the others was because of that fact - They only had each other. 

Vision had said the wrong thing so many times in the beginning, good intentions with sympathy, offering the phrases that were meant to be reassuring but unable to understand that she didn't want condolences.  She didn't want to hear that perhaps Mr. Stark and the others could take up that task in time and had told him as such with far less eloquence and far more unique expletives.  He said it had not been done with cruel intentions.  He had simply wanted to understand.  Her, the world, their shared ties to the Mind Stone and it's powers, this strange and confusing thing that was humanity that he had been dropped into.  

That he understood her loss of a familiar connection.  In a way, despite the terrible acts committed, Ultron had been his.

Wanda had decided to try to help him after that, no one else really had tried to help the synthetic being that occasionally dreamt loudly.  If for anything to distract herself from lingering over her own troubles, in a way it had made him a little more endearing, his curiosity.  Whatever intentions it had started out as, she was thankful for it, not to be alone again.

She still drifted away from time to time, struck by a passing memory - something her parents or brother might have said to her current situation.  Sometimes waking in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep again because each time she closed her eyes she could only see her home falling all around her.  Vision had seen those moments as well, her alone and wrapped in a blanket out in a chair in the common area waiting for daylight to return.

For a while Vision had observed silently as they both waited for the approaching dawn.  Somewhere along the way he began quietly speaking to her in those lonely moments. 

Simple things, an observation of the weather, their training for an approaching mission, an obscure study he had been looking at.  She had been confused at first, why he had bothered when others would simply go about their business. Let her work it out herself.  But he was still there the next time it had occurred, his voice slipping through the calamity of her thoughts, pulling her gently back to solid ground. 

Vizh was not Pietro; nor he wasn't trying to be. 

His approach had been slow and cautious, this bridge they had built between them.  Even a moment of impulse likely was calculated by probability thousands of times before he would finally settle next to her.  More when her hand sought out his, twining their fingers together instead of brushing them away  ...she missed him. 

And no one would tell her what was going to happen to him.

Perhaps it was better that way, not knowing.

Wanda stood from the couch, she couldn't sit here and drive herself stir-crazy waiting for the light to come back.  Risking another attempt at sleep was a better chance to take, Sam would probably be over the moon to have her willingly go run a few laps once morning came.  The sheets and blanket were scratchy as she settled back into the bed, wrapping her arms around a pillow and tries to quiet her thoughts.

Sleep claims her quickly once more.

 

Wanda opened her eyes.  This bedroom was different in the low light, larger and familiar.  She knew this room, for three years she had tentatively considered this her home.

She was back in the Avenger's compound?   _No._

That had been destroyed in the battle with Thanos and his armies, in places completely leveled to the ground in the fray.  But she was here now and found herself leaving the comfort of that bed and carefully creeping from the room.  She wanted to linger despite letting this memory run its course.  Instead she is left tracing her hand along familiar gray walls as though to slow her progress, following the faint sounds from the kitchen that had drawn her attention.  The sky outside was still dark.

She remembered this morning, odd that she would dream of it, she had considered it the first morning of her new life, faint and familiar.  It was when she had come to the compound and had finally ventured out from her grieving, out from under the pile of blankets and pillows, ready to train, to fight once more.  She had decided to explore her new surroundings while the others were still asleep in the early morning, to find her resolve.  The silence still jarring for her after so long in her city.

This place was almost cavernous after living in a cramped building with so many atop each other, a room of her own was a luxury after sharing close quarters with Pietro for so long.  It was a lonely empty thing in comparison, even as she strove to fill it with reminders.  She had been drawn by the soft sounds of music trailing down the hallway and the smell of something that immediately reminded her how long she had been ignoring her hunger.

Upon seeing who was in the kitchen, however, made her want to go back to her room.

And yet, she wanted to stand there and watch her one last time.

The kitchen was occupied by the one they called Black Widow.  She had certainly looked like a spider presiding over her web that particular morning.  Natasha Romanoff, an intense and frightening woman with beautiful auburn hair and a short patience for nonsense had been leaning over the island counter.  Idly turning a spoon in her coffee cup as she looked at the paperwork she had spread out before her.  Wanda had carefully ventured too far into the common area for a successful retreat, hoping to instead continue past her without notice, trying for all the world to be stealthy without the use of her powers.  

It would have been easy to call up the scarlet light, to whisper _Do not notice_ as she had in Johannesburg.  But she wanted to be better.  She had seen and felt what it had done to their minds and had decided never again.  The damage had been too great.  No, she would try to slowly move past the spider's web and hope she would not be noticed.

Much like that first time, Natasha had heard her and had looked up.  

Seeing who it was, she immediately offered a curious sort of smile that made her look as though she had a secret. 

And if you were lucky, she might just tell you what that secret was. 

“Hey Kid, the coffee is getting cold.”

Wanda paused in her step, confused.  That wasn’t what she had said that first time, it had been something about her foot placement when sneaking up on someone.

But Natasha only offers that secret smile of hers, sliding a second cup towards her.  It wouldn’t be coffee this time, it would be tea. Wanda could smell it from where she stood hesitating, black tea with pomegranate.  A cup with contents that would be the same vibrant scarlet as the energy she called into existence, with a sweetness that made her teeth instinctively ache.  She inclined her head towards the cup, as though knowing of the change. “Interesting choice, especially in a place like this.” 

If that was meant to be taken as humor or warning, Wanda didn’t care.  Instead she was moving again before she realized it, skirting around the counter and tightly embracing the woman that had been her teacher and her friend with a wordless sound.  A mixture of joy and relief settling upon her, the sound a child makes upon seeing the one person that could make everything right again. 

The last time she had saw her had been fighting in Wakanda, knocked about and spattered with the blood of one of those that followed Thanos, one of nightmarish pair that had been sent to hunt the Mind Stone down.  Wanda had surprised her, lifting and thrown into the whirling blades of a rampaging war-machine.  They had been left battered and bruised, but Natasha and the one they had called Okoye had been safe.  After that …

Natasha laughs with a genuine sound of amusement at her reaction, allowing the rough hug and pats her back lightly.  “Hey, it’s alright. It’s going to be okay.”

She could feel the tickle of Natasha’s hair brushing against her cheek.  It felt real - but muted. Almost like the coercion Wanda would use, enough sensation and belief that it _could_ be real.  But she wasn’t doing this - she was certain of that - was it due to the stones being together again?  Was this another ripple?  Perhaps it was simply just a dream, nothing fantastical, just the product of an overworked mind and broken heart.  “...it’s not alright, Nat, if it was, you would still be here...”  Wanda mumbled against her hair, feeling her throat grow tight.  Afraid that if she let go she would wake up.

“Wanda.”  She knew that tone of voice, it was the same firm tone that commanded attention during a mission.  Be serious and focus, the rest later.  Now Natasha pulled away, her face had changed, deeply lined with exhaustion and frowning with disappointment.  Not at her, past her - at the windows which were steadily growing lighter with the approaching dawn.  It wasn’t only her face that had changed - her hair was longer now, braided back.  Was this what she had become in the years of watching while they had been gone?  “This was the only chance we had, we didn’t have time to find another way.”

She gestures to the papers still spread out upon the countertop, settling herself back and shakes her head.  Wanda tries to read them, to understand, but the words upon the papers swim and the pictures blur with streaks of bleeding color.  This is something not for her to see.  “I know it’s not the plan any of us wanted to take, Wanda. In the end - Me?  Tony - we played our parts.  This time everyone came home.”

“But…”   _You didn’t.  
_

Natasha held up her hand, stopping her with another brief shake of her head, she needed to say her piece.  “I don’t regret my choice.”

The golden light of sunrise was beginning to creep across the floor, chasing away the shadows of what was.  The walls were fading into an indistinct haze, Wanda could see it happening in the edges of her sight.  But Natasha seemed nonplussed by this, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a sip, watching the light come closer.  “You know Tony left me with the clean-up again?  Saves the day and leaves a mess. This time, I’ll let things clean themselves up for once.  I’m overdue a break - and I want to do some checking in on my favorite niece and nephews.  Make-up for lost time.” She reaches up pushing a strand of Wanda’s hair back into place, pulling her attention away from the approaching light.  “...you’ll need to do some of that yourself.”

“Just do me a favor - go easy on Clint.  He’s a lot like you, good heart but quick to blame himself when things don’t work out the way he planned.” 

She smiled faintly, “But I think you already know that.”

Natasha steps close and presses a soft kiss against Wanda’s forehead, a ghost offering that secretive smile as she gently pushes her backwards into that gold and scarlet glow of sunrise. 

 

“The sun is coming, Wanda, it's time for you to wake up.”


	5. Boxes

“So I have good news and I have bad news -”  Sam Wilson smiled his easy smile before gesturing to a pair of medium sized boxes laying by her door in the hallway.  “The bad news first - your place got destroyed.  You’re not getting the deposit back."

"The good news?  Since we were already evicted for being war criminals and all - landlord went and threw your stuff into storage.” 

Wanda smiled faintly. “That was… decent of them?” 

“Nat’s doing, I’m thinking.”

More like Vision, Wanda wanted to reply but thought otherwise, she wasn't going to correct him. 

Sam had an interesting way of getting a person to talk about things and likely bringing it up would be an opening for a conversation she was reluctant to have, but the boxes were a welcomed surprise.  She concentrates, the box wreathed in crimson coming to a rest after it’s short journey across the floor.  Likely they would contain some of her clothes, photographs and the few items she had considered to be far more valuable - things from the homes she had left behind.  Wanda kneels by the box as he sets his own down besides the couch, watching as Sam straightens up.

She knows he’s taking a brief sweep of the room for any noticeable changes.  There are none.  The couch and paperwork-swamped small table were still occupying their space by the window, some homey afterthought.  The flat-screen was still anchored to the wall.  The cot with it's scratchy everything and very empty dresser were still next to the cramped closet of a bathroom.  It was still an attempt at re-purposing space into temporary dorms for those securing and cleaning up the former compound.  For others providing aid to those returned.  He has checked each time he drops in with their meals or an invitation to get outside, but this time he lingers after his observation.  “Mind if I stick around for a little bit?  I’ve been getting tired of looking at the same walls, thought I’d enjoy looking at yours - that is, if you don’t mind?”

Perhaps she could use a little company, she waves off the question, closing the door softly with another small gesture and flare of energy.  Nothing to mind.  _The people that cared about her were either dead or under house arrest, visitors and chances to be social were a short commodity these days._ Going outside alone still made her uncomfortable.  Too many strangers, far too many people around her suddenly filling the area with palpable concern to her presence.   _If they only knew what she could really do when motivated.  Perhaps they already did._

At least Sam did a better job of hiding it.  Then again, he was used to her.

“They still haven’t found anything of mine, I’m probably facing having to borrow a suit off of someone for the memorials.”

She holds up an embroidered shawl, inspecting it for holes before giving Sam a questioning look. 

“Not really my color.” 

“You said - Memorials.  Has something changed?”  _Please.  Please, tell me no one else has…_

Sam looked confused before realizing what that had sounded like, seeing the expression of dread cross her face.  "No, no, nothing has changed.  Steve is coming in a day or two - he's our official escort.  He and Rhodes have been dealing with Ross - been making sure everything is clear and Barnes is situated before we’re heading over to Clint’s.  Go over a few things from there, mainly what we do next.”

_If there was even a need for them anymore._

He settled onto the couch, hunching forward with his arms propped across his knees, hands dangling.  “Tony’s funeral… The public memorials are going to be happening this week, but Nat -” It went without saying, this was being done with two intentions - they were taking advantage of the distraction as much as they were gathering with the purpose to honor a fallen friend. 

Because Natasha wouldn’t have a funeral. 

They didn't even have her remains and as for family -

_They were Natasha’s family._

And it was still hard to accept that she was gone for so many that had known her.

Wanda nodded, for a moment trying to remember a forgotten dream, torn between resuming sorting out the small collection of clothes and leaving the carefully folded fabric undisturbed.  Knowing Vision had likely overseen to the task of boxing her things after they had been taken into custody made it harder.  Hesitating as though there would be a trace of him in the symmetrical folds of a long sleeved shirt.

"Probably wasn't the best time to bring that, huh?  You start getting used to traveling light for so long and suddenly having a little more clutter throws you off."  Sam offers, noticing her lingering discomfort.

"It's not so bad."  She is thankful his comment had broken her free of that dangerous train of thought, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug.  "My brother was more for the material over the moment.  If anything the things I leave behind help me appreciate what I have a little more in memories."  Generally because nothing had lasted very long for her or her twin, even before the testing he had been hasty and impatient.  Only right everything else in his life would come to match that gift of unnatural speed - clothes and relationships - worn out in record time.

She gathers her resolve, carefully sliding the folded items out with minimal disturbance, like she was an archeologist unearthing some priceless artifact, setting them aside.  It was one small step to normalcy, having something that wasn't rescued from a donation bin.  Below the clothes rested unfinished books and a pair of small wooden boxes, likely containing her old jewelry that had long gone to tarnish.

But Sam is still watching her, his face passive but she knows he's thinking of something to say. 

"You remember much - from that day?"  He was taking a risk going for a direct approach, trying to get her to talk again.  But that was what he did best, closed his wings, took his dive and hoped he had something to show for it.  She almost wanted to tersely reply with, _Which day?  Sokovia?  Lagos?  Or were you meaning more recently?  
_

"I remember enough, Sam."  She opens one of the wooden boxes, studying its contents to avoid looking him in the eye, hoping her tone would be enough for him to drop it.  "I think those memories will be much harder to lose."

A moment of quiet falls between them as Sam turns his head, looking bothered by something in her response.

“Listen, Wanda, I know you’ve -”  He almost looks as though he is fighting his own words, still looking at her with a pursed expression.  Trying not to go headlong into saying something that would make her shut him out.  Or throw him out a window.  "You've seen plenty.”  He lifts his hands, lets them drop back down again.  “I know you're dealing with it in your own way.  And I know you're getting sick of hearing it from me, saying you need to talk about it, get it out of you.  I'd get that same look from the guys I worked with.  Where they think you did your tour behind a desk - you're just some jerk reading from a PTSD brochure.  Blowing smoke up their ass about knowing what they went through -"

Whatever it was he was going to say, he's committed to getting it out now because she's looking like she is seconds from bolting, anything to avoid the conversation.  

"But why haven't you asked anyone where Vision is?”

The instinct to flee is gone, Wanda stills, looking up at the man who has suddenly realized he has finally asked the right question.  Because it's true, she hasn't asked.  She's thought about him, thought of confronting Steve or Rhodes with the same fury she had in facing Thanos.  To demand answers, to know if he had been honored and not just shoved into a storage somewhere to be forgotten. 

But to actually be given those answers - it terrifies her.  And she answers his question with a voice that sounds so tired and small, “...because I was… I tried… I... saw...”  She closes her eyes, letting the box slide from hands that felt numb. 

_Because if I don't know for certain I can at least pretend nothing has changed for a little bit longer, that tonight I can reach out and tell myself that I can still feel him out there.  
_

He doesn’t say anything.  Only kneels down in front of her, putting his arms around her and draws her in close. 

She struggles not to break down again, to keep her panic at bay and barely catches his words when he does finally speak.  

It's not placating or empty words of sympathy, it's experience.  He's been in this place before. 

“...you still have a right to know.” 

Sam may be right, but it doesn't mean she is ready to accept it just yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again and I hope you are enjoying this, I certainly am in writing it.


	6. Forbear

If there was one advantage of their group, it was that they didn’t stand out as they stood looking critically at the overcast skies that had greeted them this morning.  It likely would have been easier to simply turn back inside and keep to one of their rooms, but Steve was determined to risk rain for the sake of getting outside and running off excess energy.  And to get them up to speed.  Barnes had taken Steve up on the offer of staying behind until they had to leave for Clint's, cautious as a habit.  After being trapped in cars and meetings and just picking up the pieces - she could understand both of them wanting to run screaming for the hills at the first chance of freedom.  Or at least hiding for some peace and privacy.

She had done enough of that herself.

Sam and Steve discussed the weather as Wanda lingered near, trying not to watch other people coming and going in the change of shifts.  Keeping her focus on her teammates with a small smile, she had missed this feeling, the sense of ease. It was a nice distraction.

Of the three of them; Sam was the only one that didn’t look rough around the edges.  Both Wanda and Steve still carried the last traces of yellowing bruises and fading cuts - one of the many advantages of sticking to the skies as often as possible.  She wishes it was safer to chance taking to the air as she considers the brooding clouds.  To put space between her and a conversation she was trying to convince herself to initiate.  But no, she would stay grounded and the rain wouldn't come just yet - though it would serve as an incentive for burning off a little more in the frantic run back if and when it did.

"You still tagging along to supervise, Wanda?  Make sure Silver-Sneakers here isn't just slowing down for my sake?"  Sam smiled, he knew she was still on the fence about joining them.  He had pushed the point that getting outside would be good for her.  That even if she didn't ask about Vision that very day, it would take some of the pressure and anxiety off when she was finally ready to ask.

Still, when Steve had arrived, for a moment he looked almost _uncomfortable_ when he had first seen her standing with Sam outside of the building.  The look had been fleeting before replaced with that wide beaming smile that belonged on a propaganda poster.  Something that was meant to inspire patriotism. Bit hard to do much inspiring when part of your own country thought you were still a war criminal.  No worse than what the rest of the world thought of their involvement related to Thanos.

Perhaps he had a few things to say to her as well.

Wanda smiled in response, "I'll just pick up and throw whoever starts to fall behind."

Sam looked unsure as to if she was joking, but the laughter that comes with it is a welcomed sound.

The run starts strong before it falls into their old patterns of training, Steve and Sam holding pace, Steve surging ahead, slowing up, speeding off.  They were more than happy to run themselves ragged while Wanda took up the back of the pack, enjoying the easy banter between the two men that drifted back as they navigated the property. 

It was easy enough to lose herself in her thoughts, focus on the sound of sneakers on the pavement, the sound of her breathing -

"How's your head?"

Wanda let out a yelp of surprise at the voice coming from behind her, apparently Steve had gotten tired of keeping pace with Sam and had resumed his normal enhanced speed to circle around.  At least he looked a little sheepish about it as he slowed to match her jog.

"It's - alright."  She was lucky to walk away with what had been a mild concussion considering what they had gone through.  Better to have a few slight headaches and some fuzzy moments than the alternative, though it was hard to resist not reaching up to touch the spot just above her eyebrows.  “Good days and bad, but I’ve been feeling more like myself.”

“Gotta take it day by day.”  He nods approvingly and for a moment she’s unsure if that was meant for her or more for himself, he could certainly speak from experience in missing time.  “It can be hard, slow at times.  But it’ll come back to you.”

She offers a faint Hm, half of the problem were the things coming back to her.  At least if she was doing something, it would be a distraction from those overwhelming moments.  "How long are we going to be staying here?" 

"Not much longer, I'm hoping to at least get a little more freedom for you, I've been fighting a completely different battle with oversight boards and special commissions in trying to get your status restored."  Steve's smile slips, replaced with concern, some passing thought that seems to bother him.  Something in it must have bothered him, but he didn't seem inclined to share.  "...we are not leaving you behind, Wanda."

That was an odd thing to say, but Wanda allowed him to continue, hoping he would offer something of a plan.  A direction.

"Until we can figure out where we stand, what we're doing next - we're in limbo.  Nat was handling everything before - I've been trying to find the pieces she left."  No doubt, Nat was good at keeping things under wraps.  Steve would undoubtedly struggle with things like administrative things, he wasn't expecting the task was going to be hindered even more by it being buried under actual rubble.  If not completely destroyed.  "I'm hoping that when I see Clint I can get him to help - but after everything…"  He looked doubtful, both to the task and to the possibility of Clint being in any condition to help.  "... everything settling, the constitutional challenges, the UN representatives that are wanting revisions - something is going to change." 

 _Things have already changed, Steve, don't you realize that?  But will that mean I have to go back to being a fugitive until things do change?_ Wanda shakes her head, she knows she should say it.  But Steve would likely offer optimism instead of answers.  They were back in the same situation as they started and those were things she was almost afraid to consider.  Because this time she would be facing them alone.  Maybe it would be better to leave, to somehow find a way back to Sokovia, work at being forgotten.  "I'm sure Sam -"

"Would be happier making sure the people on his team continue to stay safe."  Sam interrupts, approaching them from the opposite direction, she's wary now.  "Because the alternative is going back to civilian life and I don't want to even think of trying to find an apartment right now."

Comforting, though she was sure it wasn’t completely true.  No one willingly wanted to be cooped up in what felt like just another prison with slightly better accommodations.  They resume an easy pace, the business park the building occupied still looked as though it could benefit from the attention of a landscaper, but there was plenty of sidewalk to share.

"Speaking of civilian life - what about Rhodes?  They follow through on the court martial?”

“Dropped it.  On account of the world being on fire.”

Sam laughed, falling in besides Wanda as they walked, she had remembered the first time the Secretary of State had said that before James Rhodes had cut communications - after being instructed to arrest them.  He had drawn his own line in the sand with that decision not to follow those orders.  Apparently some things could be forgiven after all,  “... call the man Teflon. I'm sure Secretary Ross was overjoyed to hear that news.”

“Just one more thing added to his list.  He's been in a corner and he hasn't been happy about things for a while.  Especially when I was given a reprieve.  Probably was so sick of listening to Tony and his surviving lawyers over the years that I'm a welcomed target to see sitting at the conference table."

"Still, they can't claim we’re not cooperating, as much as I would like for you two to be anywhere else.”  Steve glanced backwards, careful, but she didn't see anyone.  “Our people are working on what needs to be done, Clint is back home and we are following the rules with respect to the Accords.”  She was sure Steve was hiding a _For Now_ somewhere in that.

Sam glanced at her, she didn't need to meet his eyes to know the look.   _Talk to him.  Ask._ But the skies above gave a threatening rumble of thunder and the question stuck in her throat as Steve spoke again.

"Our time is limited and so are our options - Banner and Shuri have been working at getting data collection done on the Infinity Stones, Lang and his team are working on getting their quantum machine up and running again.  We agreed it would be our only opportunity to learn what we can about the stones before they go back.”

Go back?  That meant the Mind Stone would be - The realization stopped her in place like a slap, she stared at Steve who had plenty of reasons to look as uncomfortable as he did at that moment.  That was the cause of his unease, her possible reaction to this news.  She could feel it coming off of both of them now in waves without having to reach out to their minds.

“...you're not going to try giving the stone back to Vision first.”  That was the plan she had been hoping to hear instead.  So much that she had taken to a daydream that they would possibly try to put the mind stone back.  To find Helen Cho or to work with that brilliant woman they had met in Wakanda - Shuri?  But to find a way to influence the metal and circuitry of his body to repair, to possibly heal itself.  To resume what they had first attempted without the pressure of time against them.  To bring him back to her.

But if they weren't even going to consider trying - did they even have Vision's body?  What had they done?

She could hear a dull roar building as her thoughts took to racing.  Steve was moving slowly, turning to face her with hands raised and palms facing out, seeing the panic in her expression.  Every reason to navigate this conversation as carefully as possible.

She had found a dangerous thing - _Hope_ \- and it was about to disappear.

"Where is he."

“Wanda, I'm not trying to take this away from you, you have to understand that...” 

Sam was still at her side, his mind bright with concern but on the ready to likely try to incapacitate her for safety.  Hers?  Theirs?  It hardly mattered, they wouldn't be able to.  Things could go very bad very quickly, but Steve stayed calm.  “They have to go back or all of this won't matter.”

"Where is Vision."  That cold and quiet thing in her head was using her voice now, only it wasn't going to be quiet for much longer.

He stepped closer, prepared for her to lash out, lowering his voice as the gap between them closed.  “If I could bring one more person back, if I could bring _him_ back, I would.  Instantly.  But time is something that we don't have.”

Wanda drew a deep breath, but before she can do anything, say anything to that - The Falcon is taking his dive. 

“But you have enough time to stick her out in the middle of nowhere, not tell her anything, and expect things not to go this way, Cap?  She needs answers, even you know that.”  Sam interrupts, his concern is mixed now with indignation.  This wasn't what he had expected.   “You can’t even look her in the eye and tell her whether or not anyone tried to take care of Vision while we were gone?”  Sam knew as much as she did and the reports Steve had gotten them had made no mention of his status, his current location, nothing.

He saw how much not knowing was tearing her apart piece by piece.

Wanda continued to stare the larger man down, considering her options before slowly allowing her shoulders to drop in resignation.  He knew the price she had paid - but she hoped whatever he was going to say to her wasn’t going to be a lie to pacify her.  “...Vision isn’t just the stone.  So if he does not have that, what is left?  Please, where is he?”

“I don't know - ”

That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. 

“Than tell me _something_ you _do_ know.”  Wanda bristled with frustration, had five years really changed the man she had once considered a friend so much?  “What is going to happen?  You always act like you know what to do.  So tell me where Vizh is, because if I am waiting for nothing - I'll leave right now.”   _And if you try to stop me, you know what I can do and what I did to Thanos will be pale in comparison._

Steve, a man who for the longest time always seemed to have a plan, how to win the day, appeared at a loss.  This wasn't the way things were supposed to go for any of them, but Sam was right, she had a right to be angry.  “Things are still in the air, Wanda.  And doing that right now - leaving, would be the worst choice to make.”  To Wanda he sounded tired.  He wasn't cut out for a task like this, his place is behind his shield winning the good fight.  Not offering condolences and empty excuses of things being out of his hands, but he forges ahead, dropping those hands back to his sides.  She's not going to hurt him, or if she is, he knows that its long overdue.  “They were going to bring Vision back."

She nodded, listening for him to continue on.

"Tony wanted to see if there was anything he could do.  Help who we could."  Wanda barely registered Sam settling a hand lightly on her shoulder, still watching her as she took in this information.  "The UN panel and Secretary Ross had other ideas - they informed Nat that Vision was to be turned over voluntarily and immediately or he would be seized as soon as the transport left international waters.  Their argument was that since Vision signed the Accords he was government property.  Functioning or not.”

She didn't need to look at her hands to know there were flickers of red dancing along her fingertips, “He's not - Vizh isn’t some piece of broken machinery to _scavenge_ for parts.”  The flare of concern between the two men was enough to force herself to regain her composure, to push that energy back and hold it in place.  Those people wouldn’t have understood that there was something more than circuitry or complicated hardware or a vessel for the mind stone's powers - he had been evolving into something more.

What she had felt during that quiet rainy night they had stolen in Scotland had been a soul.

But on paper he was just a machine, wasn't he?  _Just a Stark Industries robot with a few quirks._ An asset waiting to be dismantled and reverse engineered part by part by strangers, not even given a moment of respect for his sacrifice.  Wanda clamped down on that cold voice that still stirred with suggestions, what she could do part by part to those people that would have harmed the one she had loved so much.  Those thoughts were dangerous, she could sink into that fury and despair and her feet would never reach the bottom.

Steve nodded and suddenly she understood.  This was why he had agreed to her being held and monitored unlike the others.  Why Sam was with her and so determined to get into her head, to get her to talk.  Because she was still dangerous, world saved or not.  There would be plenty of reasons to demand she was kept locked up tight for the rest of her life.

Or have Vision used as a means of keeping her compliant. 

They had the advantage at the moment.

“And Tony turned around and told them that if he wasn't considered human, his signature wasn't valid."

That was a surprise - yet she could see Tony Stark doing exactly that.  Smugness hiding anger - knowing they would not have understood or would have simply dismissed his explanations as to what Vision was.  He would have offered a smile that didn’t reach the eyes with a quip of how much validity a coffee maker had when signing legal documents.  Likely that would have added fuel to the fire.

"They tied his hands.  Nat told the transport to go somewhere else, Wakanda was part of the Accords and without T'Challa - we had to declare he was lost.” 

“Is he?” 

He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. 

“It’s better that you don’t have that information right now, Wanda.  I’m sorry.  There’s things in play that could put the advantage we have at risk.  The stones need to go back first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for taking the time to read, I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am in writing it. Thank you for the kudos and comments, they are greatly appreciated and certainly brighten the day!


	7. House Call

There was a stranger in the room.

Wanda paused in the doorway, taking in the sight that greeted her upon opening the door.  At what was most definitely a well kept but oddly dressed man on the couch.  Sitting in a comfortable recline, one leg crossed over the other.  Leafing through a volume of Amichai’s poetry; one of her books that had been pulled from the boxes.  Paying her no mind as though he was simply passing the time in a waiting room. 

Generally the people preferred normal clothes - a tunic and cape however?  That was certainly a unique choice of attire, one that she was starting to learn was usually picked up by absolute lunatics who put their lives on the line frequently.  Had she seen him before?

He looked up, closing the book and carefully sets it down to balance on the arm of the couch, obviously satisfied that he had her attention.  He may not have been familiar, however the sense of peace that radiated off of him was - one of the sorcerers.  _I might not know who he is, but he obviously knows me._ “Miss Maximoff.”

“Mister- ?”  She stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her with a nudge of her foot.  No need to worry about an escape route, if he made the mistake of attacking her she was more than ready to put him and the couch through the adjacent wall.  But he seemed more inclined to remain sitting on the couch, offering a polite smile.

“Doctor Stephen Strange.” 

“I thought I was cleared on the concussion -”   _By a normal doctor that doesn’t wear a cape.  
_

“That is certainly good news, but no, I’m not here because of that.  I don’t think there’s an insurance coding for a consult like this, but it’s a conversation that needs to happen.”  He gestures before him, “Please, take a seat.”

Now a chair was occupying the area before the couch, a high back and overdone looking leather chair that had obviously seen better days.  Wanda immediately stepped back in alarm, her hands wreathed in scarlet energy, caught between looking at the chair and this - Doctor Strange.  He seemed nonplussed by both the chair’s appearance and her reaction, simply gesturing towards the chair once more.  “Hm. Don’t even have to think about it - it’s practically a part of you, isn’t it?” 

 _...I can hold him in place... get a look in his mind… make sure he doesn’t come back._ Old instinct was already sounding in the back of her head, the last thing Wanda wanted to do was fight, but she prepares just in case.   _You’re already upset, may as well use it if he wants to show his power by conjuring antiques._ She steps lightly, her hands restlessly twitching at her sides.

“Miss Maximoff - Wanda?”  Stephen continues to watch her approach, “I’m only here to talk, please save whatever energy you’re intending to use in attacking me.  I’m speaking with a certain level of personal experience when I say that it isn’t worth the effort.”  Again he offered that patient and pleasant smile with a tone of voice that made him sound as though they were discussing the rain that was falling outside. 

Wanda paused, cocking her head to one side, still trying to understand his intentions.  This wasn't the day to deal with something like this, she had already run out of patience.  But she finally adopts a tone she had once used in explaining the importance of using doors to Vizh.  “Talks normally don't involve breaking in and waiting to surprise someone who isn’t expecting visitors, Mister Strange.  At least the constructive ones don't.” 

It was a good point and judging by the sigh, that air of mystery he had been trying to maintain had just been knocked from his sails.  “Just - Stephen. Please.”

She relaxed, the twisting scarlet energy immediately dissipating from her fingertips.  That chair of his was going to remain untouched.  To her it still looked like a dusty relic summoned from a sitting room long forgotten and loaded with rusty springs.  The floor was safer and that was where she settled - and was immediately rewarded with a faint expression of exasperation from her guest.  His chair disappearing in the blink of an eye.  "What do we need to talk about, Stephen?”

“The stones -”

Wanda held up her hand, “- are going to be sent back.  Yes, I am _well_ aware of that.”  Perhaps her tone was a bit too curt, but Rogers wouldn’t be looking her in the eye for a little while and she was very determined in giving him the silent treatment, at least until it hurt a little less.

“They are, for the sake of preserving the timelines they were taken from.”  Stephen nodded, perhaps he hadn’t fully heard her, or he had a particular direction he had wanted the conversation to go already planned.  “However, my concern are your ties to the Mind Stone.  You were exposed to a cosmic power and instead of it outright killing you, it triggered a change in your physiology and gave you a measure of its power.  You interacted with it.”

Interacted.  That word almost made her laugh, to have what she had built with Vision, simplified.  Instead she offered him a tired look before giving speaking, “I destroyed the stone by killing someone I loved.  And even that did not work.”

She watched as his face took an interesting range of expressions as he processed that information.  She could almost hear it from where she sat - those that hadn’t known Vision seemed inclined to simply dismiss him and his death.  That he had just been an empty vessel bearing the infinity stone with no life or ties beyond that purpose.  Eyebrows finally lifting in that moment of - _Oh._ It was likely a good thing she had not looked into his mind - no doubt it would have earned her a headache that would have lingered for weeks. 

Stephen obviously knew that she had stood before the Mad Titan, twice, but to know the reason why she did so?  That was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, their relationship.  He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable upon the unexpected invasion of their personal lives.  “I’m... sorry.”

"For what?"  She didn't need his condolences, but for a moment Wanda is still puzzled as to why he sits with almost an air of guilt around him.  The silence stretches, broken only by the sharp tapping of rain against the window.  Wanda was almost hoping he would disappear like the chair so she could resume forgetting the rest of the morning, but he doesn’t.  

Instead of answering that question, he regroups and continues on.  “I’m here because the stones have been trying to communicate.  More concerning is that the Mind Stone has been trying to contact you.” 

Communicate?  The discordant voices she had once heard frequently had gone quiet as of late, aside from the quiet one that used her voice and had doggedly remained.  "No one has contacted -"

Did he mean the dreams?  She could barely remember the momentary flashes that lingered after waking.  Fragmented memories - her brother, staring up at an unfamiliar and impossible night sky that danced with color.  Von Strucker and his proud declaration of a new age - the success of his horrifying miracles.  The empty Avenger’s compound and it's ghosts.

Natasha and lost time.

The creeping golden light. 

“Since they’re not sharing what they want to say - will you?” 

It struck a note within her, to be mindful of what she shared with this person who looked more and more like a cat patiently waiting for the mouse to bolt from it’s hole.  "I was not aware - no one has felt it to be to keep me informed here before today.  I have not heard anything, but I have had dreams."

Stephen offered an encouraging smile, _Go on.  
_

Wanda frowned in turn, trying to recall something that would tell him whatever it was he was trying to find.  “I don’t always understand what I am seeing, I saw - memories in some.  Home.”  She shakes her head for a moment over that word, the cramped room she shared with Pietro had been more of a home than that sprawling dedication to Tony Stark’s wealth and personal pet project of saving the world.  But it had become her home.  “I saw the Avenger’s facility, Natasha Romanoff, one of my - teammates.”  _Friends._ “She was trying to show me something, it seemed important to her.”

"She died getting the Soul Stone - what did she want to know?”  That had caught his attention, “What you tell her?"

What was he hoping to hear?  That her dead friend was commanding Wanda to take the stones back?  To confirm their worst fears?  "Nat didn't want to know anything - she only wanted me to look at papers she had.  I couldn't understand them.”  Wanda studied her hands, wishing she could pull the dream back, to experience it again.  “I only told her I missed her."

"Did you see anything else?"

"A light, I thought it was the sun coming up."  She remembered the light better now, how it caused everything it washed over to become indistinct, burning it away like the sun over a morning fog.  How it had caused her head to ache from looking at it, even upon waking.  And Nat's disappointment at it's presence.

"I had to try to interrupt the connection."

He had caused it to end?  "Why would you do that?  It was Natasha -"

"You don’t know that for certain."  He sat forward mirroring her expression of disapproval, tapping a hand across the top of his knee.  "It's using the other stones to possibly manipulate you, it might be removed from our timeline, but you're still carrying its power, Ms. Maximoff.  And none of us are certain what that might mean-"

"If you are so concerned than be done with it and send it away now."  Wanda wasn't even certain she was going to have the freedom to live her life and yet people were so eager in telling her how to live it.  She didn't yell, as much as she wanted to, but she was tired.  Tired of the caution, tired that others thought she was either a danger to herself and the public, or incapable of deciding things for herself.  "I've spent years dreaming of not having this be a part of me - and you're more concerned thinking of finding the next threat sitting across from you.  So if you apparently know what you’re dealing with and if you think I am that much of a risk; take its power away."

She had caught him off guard with that, it wasn't the reaction he was expecting judging by the wide eyed expression on his face and his mumbled response.  Weren't the Masters supposed to be prepared for anything?  

"I don’t know what I am dealing with ...but I know interrupting the connection nearly injured the group assisting me and that I won't risk the safety of others.  I can't stop them, but I can at least prepare you." 

He falls silent again, his mouth drawing into a tight line as he seems to consider the situation at hand. 

"Wanda, if I were to extend an invitation - of learning, possibly training - would you consider it?  It’s my duty to protect reality and I would rather have you an ally than know I didn’t help someone who needed it." 

She stares him down, looking far from honored for such an opportunity.  Her hands pressing hard against her thighs, and when she speaks it is in that small voice.  “...did Steve Rogers put you up to this?”

“No.”  Came a firm response, it sounded truthful, but she was still wary of the offer and what future it could potentially hold regardless of her answer.

“This was my best opportunity to speak with you in private - no one knows I am here and no one will know about this, if that is what you want.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading.


	8. Dovetail

_...the Department.... has reported a significant increase in…_

_Another burst of static.  
_

_...President... has declared… support... in this ongoing crisis… with a promise to…_

The radio station signal finally quit, Sam muttered something about wishing for satellite, reaching over to tap the scan button on the radio. 

The further they traveled from the civilization that had clustered itself closer to the airports and cities, the more they saw what had been left behind during the five years - The Devastation.

She wasn't sure she liked that name for it.

Wanda stared at her faint reflection in the glass, still considering the conversation shared between her and Stephen Strange.  Perhaps he was being honest, that the offer to assist in some form of training was sincere.  _Or he’s simply offering a pretty collar with a very loud bell attached -_ even if that was the case, the temptation was still there.  He wasn’t wielding powers like hers, but it was obvious that the Masters of the Mystic Arts understood what they possibly were - what she could do if given the opportunity to learn.

What could possibly happen if she were to continue to learn her way alone.

Though she was certain Stephen wasn’t being completely honest with her when he had made the offer, that it had been done by impulse and he himself hadn't thought of the risks involved.  Perhaps the other Masters wouldn’t be as welcoming should she accept - but could she walk away from something like that? 

Especially as the current alternates were to resume a life living on the run, possibly to be locked up in both a cell and in her own head once more - or the inevitable future of becoming another soldier.  Another weapon. 

This - wasn’t as bleak.

He hadn’t wanted an immediate answer, he had insisted she give it serious consideration.  They might not be the Avengers but they still had their own methods and rules to abide by.  Instead, they had spent the remainder of the time in preparing her, to better guard against the manipulations she would likely face should the stone try to reach out to her once again.

She still had her dreams, but nothing further of Natasha had come to her… even if it was a lie, it was still disappointing. 

A sharp jolt of the vehicle hitting a deep pothole broke her train of thought, she glanced towards the back, checking the supplies they were bringing with them.  Nothing damaged?  Jostled but fine, comforting as supply had still not quite reached the level of demand that was needed from the public.  She settles to resume watching the world go past once more. 

They had been fine on the highway, vehicles passed them, for a while you could almost trick yourself into believing that things were normal if you didn't look too closely.  But once on the back roads they had quickly discovered why there had been an insistence for daylight traveling and a vehicle with terrain versatility - because no one was completely certain as to the day to day conditions of roads that hadn't seen much in the way of maintenance.  Barton likely had a good reason to choose a place well out of the way when he had first selected it, if anything this certainly ensured that if anyone wanted to get to them, they'd have a little more trouble with the trip.

With helicopters being needed for far more important things - they could survive a few bumpy hours on the road getting there.

And there certainly was plenty of potholes along the way.  A little bit of promise as well, judging by the small changes that they passed, the signs of people slowly spreading back out from the dense clusters of civilization they had formed during the five years so many had disappeared.

She so far had seen a box truck parked in front of a closed down gas station passing out supplies, a group of utility trucks, organizing with an assortment of others with pickups.  An overgrown field, slowly being tamed by a small gathering of adults and children.  People traveling on horses.  Ghost towns with faint glimmers of life returned - the looting would have been a long time ago, as would scavenging - these were people returning to what was left of their lives.  Trying to figure out where to start with what little they might have left.  Seeking out a little bit of hope and promise among the debris.

It was quiet in the early afternoon of the Missouri back roads. 

And it wasn't difficult to notice the other vehicle still following them, miles away from the highway.

"Sam?  We're being followed." 

"I know."  Replied Sam as he keeps his eyes on the road, one hand drifting over to press the scan button on the radio.  His voice isn’t concerned, but he has been restlessly cycling through the static for more than a few miles now.  "They've been following us since we left the airport.  I imagine they plan on following us until we're just about ready to turn.  They’ll wait for Steve's tail and spend the night hiding at the treeline, probably meet up with some friends who are already watching Clint’s family.  They can catch up while being eaten alive by all the mosquitoes that came back."

 _If Clint hasn’t filled the woods with other surprises_ , Wanda muses to herself, watching the thick line of trees melt to open fields and back again.  It reminded her of old times, traveling across Sokovia, Germany, France - watching how the dense woods changed to fields, to towns, to cities only to be swallowed up by the forests once more.  Seeing so much in the back of a truck.  She was almost tempted to close her eyes and imagine she was in the back of another one of those noisy and bumpy transports.  Her head resting against her brother’s shoulder as he hummed some bit of music he had heard along the way.  To try to convince herself to sleep for a little while.

But that would mean taking her eyes off of the dark car several lengths back. 

Somehow she feels safer watching it.

“Can’t even pick up NPR out here.”  Sam speaks again after a few miles down the road, slightly adjusting to avoid another thick patch of grass that had broken through the already thin asphalt and no doubt hid another set of suspension wrecking potholes.  “Listen, Wanda, I’m sorry again about Steve, I knew he had things to say.  But I didn’t think he was going to pull something like that.”

Wanda’s reflection frowned back at her as another field streaked by outside the window, gold and greens blurring together.  "He has his reasons, sharing what they could be -"  Her colorful reflection shrugged back at her.  He was putting limits on the information, because what if she was to become compromised?  It was just tactics.  It might have hurt her, but it was nothing new.  “Is that why we had a last minute change and they decided to come separately, because he didn’t want to be stuck in a small space with me?”

“No.  That was me.”  Sam admitted, tapping the scan button a little more harder than necessary this time.  “You might be alright with it, but I’m still pissed. I get the need for secrecy but Steve could have talked to you in private about this a lot sooner.  He’s thinking we’re needing protection when I think it’s the other way around.”  He shook his head again, it had honestly bothered him, “I’m starting to understand this whole resentment thing between the ones that remained and the returners.”

She turned to offer him a curious look, she had heard those terms in passing conversation, but Sam obviously had more opportunities to interact with the others.  “I’m guessing we’re ‘Returners’ in this?”  It almost made them sound like some sort of movie creature - _People That Time_ _Forgot_.  Wanda suppressed a shudder of discomfort, perhaps that was a little too apt.

 

\--

 

Wanda had only visited Clint's place once before and she had immediately been charmed by the farmhouse and the surrounding countryside.  Even if the humidity had been a little off-putting at first, seeing the wide open fields had been wonderful.  Chasing and playing with Lila and Cooper and their toddling baby brother and actually feeling normal for once.  Vision and the others had been the marvel for these children and she had just been plain and wonderfully human - that - that alone had made this place memorable to her.  But the changes that had taken place were noticed immediately as she exited the vehicle, taking in the overgrowth and neglect that was showing signs of being pulled back into control.  Some things looked beyond help, the barn just behind the house that looked near collapse being one of them. 

The house has seen better days, but no doubt so have its occupants. 

Wanda remembers Clint's family, his wife Laura who had a sharper eye than her marksman husband at times, better grounded too.  Cooper and Lila and Nathaniel, their three children who had almost an endless supply of energy between them - and had left Wanda feeling a strange mix of joy and complete exhaustion trying to keep up.

They had the same look to them that Wanda frequently saw in herself and in those that had returned - they were still getting back into sync with the time they had lost - still coming to terms with the experience.  They're happy for the visitors, for the extra help and the distraction, but it is still subdued.  Because they also know that of all the people that might come today, Auntie Nat won't be with them. 

Sam is already moving to start unloading the back, but the Barton family haven't moved yet from their place on the porch - she can feel the cautious tangle of emotions coming from them all.  This isn’t the Clint Barton that Wanda remembers. 

This Clint wasn't the one that stayed on his toes even in supposed retirement and always knew what to say when Wanda would find herself mired in her own head.  This Clint that is just now greeting them with a hesitantly raised hand - because he realizes that Wanda and Sam are looking at him with concern - is older.  Not just in years, the experience has taken so much from him and it breaks her heart.  He has shadows under his eyes from a few too many sleepless nights and though he smiles at them, she can tell how much effort he is putting into holding the expression in place. 

He’s been dreading this day, seeing them again, because it means the possibility of striking a still open wound.  It means saying goodbye, moving on from what he had done instead of simply ignoring it.  He would prefer to spend it with his family, rebuilding what was, without taking that moment to look behind.  He wasn't ready for that.  But when he finally looks at Wanda, his feet are already moving down the steps of the porch because as much as his head is screaming to stay in place by his family, to remain calm and in control - he can’t help himself. 

Clint had lost his wife, his children - so much more in bringing them back.  She had lost count how many times he had helped her - out of obligation, to simply keep an eye on her - she hadn't cared for the reason.  But he had first been there as they had lain Pietro to rest, because she had no one else.  Clint Barton had stayed during those seven long days in what had been left of Sokovia after the battle; because he knew this had been his doing - he had been the one that had told her to fight.

It might have been her choice.

But deep down he still blamed himself.

So when Clint wraps his arms around her and drags Wanda in for a hug that makes her ribs feel like creaking from the pressure and the air whoosh from her lungs, she lets him.  Because she knows this time he is paying that price and he needs this as much as her.  And when Clint quickly steps away to help Sam unload - already making an attempt at humor by mentioning something about a rescue from an overabundance of venison - she has a moment of uncertainty.  Would they remember her?  On impulse she kneels down and holds out her arms to the children who have done so much growing since the last time she had seen them. 

Hopeful that they remember her.  That they aren’t scared. 

_They don’t know what you did, they have no reason to be afraid of you.  For now, just be there for them.  
_

Laura smiles, before quietly saying something to her children.  "It's okay."  It's those words that suddenly cause the children to take off like a shot down the steps, racing to be the first to reach her.

Wanda thinks she is a poor substitute for their Aunt Natasha, but as she wraps her arms around Lila and Cooper and the not so little now Nat, the worried thought disappears in an instant. 

They all feel a little more complete before Wanda loses her balance and they tumble backwards with laughter into the dusty yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your patience on updates and thank you for taking the time to read this.  
> I hope you enjoy.


	9. Kitchen Work

It wasn't a surprise that the Barton family were already picking up the pieces.  Not many would have been game for the hard work involved, especially in getting a home that had stood vacant for years back into a condition that was better than sleeping in a tent outside.  Not many people were like Clint or Laura either.  

Wanda fell behind as they entered, the children streaking off in other directions, abandoning them in resuming their chores until the next person arrived.  She couldn't help but linger here for a moment and take in the inside of their home once more - she didn't realize how much she had missed this place.  Though it had been years - the wide open rooms still held their charm, although oddly a little more bare and faded than she remembered.

It still felt welcoming.  

Laura noticed her pause, waiting for her as Clint and Sam continued on towards the kitchen.  Their voices drifting back in discussion as to how one would deal with some uncooperative tenants that had moved in; mice and rats that had claimed this paradise as their own.  The dark haired woman shook her head at Clint's grousing to Sam over having far too many tiny moving targets and not enough time to prepare, "He's picking his battles, but I think this war is one that will have to wait until a few other things are handled."  

_That explains where some of the furniture went…_

No doubt it was driving Clint crazy to have all the hard work he had put into his home undone by the persistence of nature.  "Have you and the kids been okay?"

Laura shrugged, "We came back in a yard that was practically a field."  Judging by the grass they had passed in the driveway, she wasn't joking.  "They're troopers, but I think we're all dealing with it in our own ways." Some a little harder than others.   She considered Wanda for a moment, those keen eyes searching her face for something, maybe wondering if she should ask her the same question.

Wanda nodded again, feeling a touch of nervous energy as she held tightly to her box of supplies as though it were a life preserver. "I've been dealing with it too."

"We have our distractions, but having Clint back home has helped things feel a little more normal - even if we have a while to go on reaching normal.  Listen, Wanda, I hate to ask, but -"  

 _She's going to ask me something about what happened_ \- but the words Wanda are dreading don't come.  Instead Laura is looking her over once more for a moment the older woman makes her feel as though she was under the protective scrutiny of her own mother.  She's concerned and Wanda is not quite sure what she is seeing to cause that concern.  "Do you think you would be able to help out in the kitchen?  I know you and Sam have been on the move all day but I could use some extra hands-"

She blinks at that - unsure she had heard Laura correctly - preparing herself for the worst and yet being completely taken by surprise by the request.  "We're here to - of course I'll help."

But her relief is cut short as she follows Laura into the kitchen, Sam and Clint had continued out back.  No doubt this had been the first area of the house that had been tackled in cleaning and restoring, still Wanda could see the disadvantages piled against them in preparing for visitors.  For one, the abrupt gaps of missing cabinets were a shock, as were the boards serving as countertops balanced upon a pair of sawhorses.  

Laura who had once taken so much pride in her kitchen sighed, trying to cover her embarrassment.  "I guess we will be doing that remodel a bit sooner than planned for one thing."  

She wants to ask what had happened, but it's obvious - five years of a house standing vacant with weather and nature doing what it does best.  They were lucky to come back to a house at all.  So she is almost thankful when Laura breaks that awkward quiet by pointing her to a pile of vegetables that still needed peeling and chopping - the things to be done before any cooking actually started.  

Wanda can't help but be amused, Natasha would have held up her hands with a shake of the head and would have taken refuge at the kitchen table, content to simply watch them work.  But this would have been something Vizh would have enjoyed far more.  It had only been a few days away from the Avengers compound in that summer long passed, his first and only visit to Clint's farm.  But they had been days well enjoyed, even if a majority of the time had been spent in combat practice in the woods.

Vision had been fascinated by the cooking process and Laura certainly had a well organized system when her domain wasn't in shambles.  He had been hesitant to try any actual cooking beyond taking up a paring knife and dealing with the prep work, but his initial goal had been to spend a moment of time with Wanda.  Or at least a moment of time that didn't involve her throwing largish chunks of nature at him.

Still, it had been endearing watching his interest as each process lead to completion of the meal’s components.  Wanda continued to smile down at the carrots as she took up the peeler, remembering how he had almost looked embarrassed at the praise offered over precisely cut oven fries.  He had looked embarrassed but Wanda had felt the warmth of pride coming off him from across the kitchen table, like a moment of sunshine breaking through the clouds.  Faint thoughts that he may not need to eat, but maybe he could someday cook.

Even if he had discovered on his first attempt that seasoning did not have the same exact methodology as chemistry.  

Scorched paprika and what was initially good intentions may have made a very bitter dish, but it had been sweet even if it paired well with the rest of that horrible day.  She wishes Vizh was here, he would likely jump into the task of peeling and prep work - maybe he would have used the opportunity to ask Laura for advice on spices.  Though would he have shared the story of his culinary mistake with her?  Maybe not, as the tale did end with Clint almost being seriously hurt and Wanda having to put Vision several hundred feet under the compound... 

That shook her from her daydreaming, but Laura is still talking about the house as she works on her own preparations, taking no notice of her quiet.  So Wanda continues to work and listens to the tales of how they had been lucky that the pipes mercifully didn't burst during the winter and how the garden and their few fruit trees had continued to produce.  How their garden had grown well beyond its boundaries thanks to the wildlife helping themselves to the crops.  

Laura's grateful for the help and Wanda for the company - these two friends talking, no threats of danger, no concerns beyond making sure there is enough food for those coming.

Maybe she would ask about the paprika anyway when the conversation fell into a lull.

It's nice to pretend things are normal, even for a little while.

\--

 

_This should be easy._

_Should._ Getting herself to stop overthinking the ways her idea could go wrong, however…  Wanda closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before concentrating on what she intended to do.

She was standing on the front porch of the Barton's home, lingering just outside the door.  It would be a little more than awkward explaining what she was planning to do should someone walk outside to find her here; on what was supposed to be a quick run back to the truck for something she forgot.  Because beyond simple tricks, Wanda had been keeping her abilities under a tight leash.  

_So, I heard you had a rat problem, Clint.  And everyone keeps on telling me I need to do something productive - what is that they say about two birds and one stone?  If they're going to sweep in to drag me off for the Raft, I might as well do something useful first.  
_

When she had first started to learn what the exposure to the Mind Stone had given her - when they were certain she was not going to die like the others - they had started her on small things.  A process of steps.  Lift a pencil, a block, a box, a car.  Influence a mouse, a rat, a rabbit, a dog, a monkey, a man.  Take a mind, manipulate and harm it, embolden to overconfidence, take a fear and amplify it until the mind breaks.  

The idea she had wouldn't take much effort in theory, after all, fear was an old familiar friend.

She could feel that scarlet energy branching out to seek the presence of the small animals that were hiding within the house.  She feels the minds of the others, the boys together, still tackling the task of pulling things from their room upstairs.  Laura in the kitchen, moving between tasks of cooking on the grill outside while also trying to discover what fresh mess the rodents had made during the distraction of their arriving guests.  Lila out back in the garden, checking the tangle of vegetation for anything missed and gathering flowers.  Clint and Sam talking as they work, clearing grass, getting logs and planks arranged into benches, more likely about falling barns and water wells than anything else.  

Humans weren't her target, instead the chaotic energy she called into form was twining around those furry little bodies hiding in the dark places, touching their minds - _Waiting to see if these intruders would leave, to stop disturbing their nests, to leave the food again._

She wouldn't kill them; a house of rodent carcasses in the walls wouldn't help anyone.  As tempting as that was.  

Wanda always hated rodents when she was younger, they darted about too fast, there was always a mess and something to be spoiled when mice were around.  Even before her parents died and her home became a war zone, mice were a trouble.  And afterwards?  They weren't cute little storybook creatures of her childhood, not when they became bolder as food grew sparse and the periods of warfare grew longer.  

Not when others became sick from their bites and filth.  

Mice didn't stay for long because they were quickly replaced with rats, they outnumbered the cats and dogs - after a while they outnumbered the people too.

It's satisfying when she puts that panicked impulse to flee the house into them.  

_Just like old times..._

She can see what they are seeing and registers their terror briefly before pulling away.  A flash of a looming winged silent beast. A fast moving scaled creature that crawled along its belly.  A bright eyed nightmare of fur and claws. All of the things that preyed upon them.  

_Run.  Escape.  Unsafe. Unsafe.  Unsafe. RUN._

The words are practically screaming in their minds, and it only takes a brief push to set all of them into motion at once.  

A collection of thumps and a chorus of squeaks throughout the house answered her push as flight won over fight.  She peeked back in, curious to the havoc as a wicked sort of smile crossed her face, listening to the flurry of sound and various streaks of brown and grey rodents taking sudden flight from so many hiding places.  Chaotic, but the writhing mass was immediately bolting for the screen door she held open, tumbling down the porch, running for the safety of the high grass.  What she hadn't accounted for were the shouts and shrieks of human alarm as the others encountered the mass exodus now suddenly underway in other parts of the house.  

_Maybe I should have warned the others..._

She laughs over that moment of hindsight as the last of the furry intruders departs with what sounds like almost indignant squeaking.  With it, a pounding rush of feet moving within the house, Clint and Sam hot on the trail of this fleeing threat.  Wanda lets them go past her in their rush without a word, they're too concerned over this strange occurrence not to realize she is standing there next to the door as they continue down the steps.  

What they find as they turn around, is Wanda standing there with her arms crossed.  Amused and offering them a pleasant if not wholly innocent smile, much like Natasha would have upon scoring a quip or finding advantage to exploit.  She offered nothing more, going back inside to help with a little more spring to her step.

Laura could probably use a break after all that excitement.

 

\--

 

The sun was setting, painting the sky above with streaks of pink and orange.  In the backyard an odd assortment were milling about, well fed and settling into groups of easy conversation.  

Catching up on lost time in the pleasant evening.

And Wanda was hesitating on going back outside.

Even though she knew she was part of this memorial, Wanda couldn't help having a feeling of being out of place among so many that had known Natasha Romanoff.  It was strange, this small gathering, as she considered those who had arrived from the safety of the kitchen.  She had lingered after the plates had been gathered and returned inside, claiming the job of washing up to avoid the others.

As people had arrived, Wanda's anxiety had risen.  That doubting voice was once more sounding in the back of her head, seeing them there, after everything that had happened had been comforting at first.  But after realizing exactly what had happened to those that had remained?  Were they still the same as she remembered?  

Seeing Steve Rogers first had tricked her, there had been no real time to look at the others in the thick of battle or afterwards.  But seeing him had made her think that time hadn't really affected the others. That only the world had changed, not it's protectors.  Until she had seen Clint.

She discovered that it had been worse upon Thor's arrival.  She hadn't even recognized him at first, looking more sloven than god in appearance.  He had lost so much, his family, home, his people - even with his weapons and confidence finally restored - he still looked hollowed.  

It had been a hard journey for the Azgardian.

Perhaps it was Banner that was bothering her most of all, she had initially panicked upon seeing the huge green man crossing the field in massive bounds - immediately thinking of the monster she had once unleashed upon Johannesburg as a distraction for their escape.  No longer a creature of rage and destruction, now instead smiling as he had approached, making a joke about avoiding the tolls.  It was jarring to see that he had somehow found balance during the time they had been away.  

 _Comfortable._   Comfortable was a good word for the feelings that radiated off of him.  Even though he was almost comical holding a beer bottle that looked like a child's toy in his large hand as he talked to Rhodey and Steve.  

She envies him for that.

No, the world had certainly changed and so had those who had remained to protect it.

She needs to go there, but going out would mean talking - she had already avoided Steve's attempt of pulling her aside.  Probably to ensure she still wasn't going to do anything rash.

  _...would running off with Stephen Strange and the mystics count as something rash?_

Maybe she shouldn't have come...  she could have used any excuse and it would have been fine.  Obviously Pepper and her daughter Morgan were still dealing with their own loss and preparing for Tony's public memorial and his funeral.  Okoye's duties came first to Wakanda and their King, and their kingdom was in a precarious transition.  It would have been fine, just another person who couldn't have come because they had other things to do.

_Sitting alone with her worst thoughts, being sad wouldn't count as a previous obligation._

She shouldn't have come, but truthfully she knows her absence would be noticed.  Sam would have argued against her staying behind - he had on her first try - she was a part of the Avenger's and Nat was family.  And she needed this as much as the others.  She could try to go outside, get her rushing thoughts under control and maybe be Sam’s shadow for a little while, swallow her pride and stick with Steve and Barnes.  Or find the kids -

But Wanda couldn't quite convince her feet to move.  

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a warm hand settled on her arm, "Wanda?"  

Lila was already smiling as Wanda turned abruptly from her place by the window, looking proud for surprising her.  _Clint has been teaching you things other than archery, hasn't he?_

"Mom said we're almost ready to start - did you want to stay in here?"  She was trying to be encouraging, no doubt Laura knew what she was doing by sending her daughter to try to coax Wanda outside.  Because saying no to her would be silly - it was just some flowers and having a toast, sitting around telling stories with others, coming together in remembering a friend.  And because sending Nathaniel instead would have been complete overkill, no doubt he would be the next to come should Lila fail in her mission.  

If Vizh had been here he likely would have offered a soft smile and something encouraging about human psychology and catharsis.  He would have been a steady arm to hold onto while keeping her rushing thoughts and doubts at bay.  Nat would have laughed quietly at her hesitation, making a light comment of how Wanda was supposed to be the one getting into other people's heads, not the other way around.  And those worries would have been gone, just like that.

She tries to offer Lila a brave face; that no, she obviously wasn't going to spend the duration of the evening hiding in a kitchen because her nerves had put herself into a corner.  Even though she probably would have.  Wanda is certain the young woman sees right through it because Clint's daughter only smiles again, "It's okay, Wanda, I miss her too.  C'mon, you can sit with me and dad."

She doesn't pull away when Lila takes her hand and gently tugs her towards the door and to the company of her friends.


End file.
